Dead Indian Run
by Echo Chambers
Summary: Ella has hitch-hiked across the country to speak to the one person who might listen, a special agent of the BAU. Six years ago they rescued her from a serial killer, but a second-partner is still on the loose. With little evidence, she's been turned away time after time. Will they believe her? And if they do, can they convince the director and local authorities to re-open the case?


The sun rose orange above the D.C. skyline, the morning crisp but hinting at the muggy heat that would settle over the streets in just a few hours time. From the seat of a beat up pick up truck, Ella hopped to the curb. Nodding once in a vague sort of thanks, she slung her pack over her shoulders and slammed the door behind her. The man waved once, and drove off. She ran a finger through her short hair and brushed half-heartedly at the wrinkles in her shirt. Disheveled and musky smelling, she looked every one of her days hitchhiking. The five dollars in her sock only solidified her status as "Technically homeless." But, she'd made it.

Almost. Reaching into her pocket she retrieved a battered and stained business card she'd been handed six years ago. The man had said "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call."

She wasn't sure he'd take her call, but she figured, if she could just talk to him - face to face… Surely he'd help her out. Surely he, of all people, wouldn't shut her down and shut her out. Someone had to believe her. Someone had to take her seriously. She had to believe in that.

Ella looked around, she was on the outskirts of the town – Mr. Jackson was only passing through on the interstate, turning up north and headed to Main for something or another. He'd not been as chatty as the previous two drivers who'd picked her up. But he had expected more from her.

She'd not dwell. She was here. Made it to D.C. Somewhere, in all the madness of a major city, was the _Behavioral Analysis Team. _She started walking. They probably didn't even start work for three more hours. She had plenty of time.

It took two big maps on street corners, three passersby, and a filched map from a tourist center to find the place. And there it was: a massive government building full of glass and concrete and steel. It went up more floors than she could count and, like everything in this city, it was just too-big. Now that she was staring it down, she wondered how she ever had thought she'd get inside - her, with her stringy brown hair, rumpled and unwashed button up shirt, her holey sneakers and stained jeans. She tucked in her shirt to try and look cleaner, but it only showed off the piece of duct tape fixing her belt. She un-tucked the shirt and sighed.

Ella looked down at the business card again. He said he'd help her. He told her that, carrying her to the medic, her arms clenched around his neck. He promised.

She bit her lip. Would they even let her in?

She could feel the summer sweat trapped beneath her backpack. And, if she did get in, what if they didn't believe her?

A man in a business suit walked past her. Exiting the building a woman with a brief case was talking on her cell. Through the windows she saw well dressed men and women going about business. She shook her head. This was foolish. But, this was what she came for.

"Damned if I stop now." It was three in the after noon. She crossed the street at the chirping of the signal and approached the steps. Feeling like everyone's eyes were on her, the out-of-place girl, she kept her eyes trained on the door, and pushed it open with sweaty hands. A puff of cool air hit her as she left the hot summer sun. A security check point awaited her directly inside. She took a breath, and approached the officer.

"Ma'am," she said. The woman eyed her, but gave Ella her quiet attention. Ella pulled out the business card. "I wanted to see – or leave a message for, or something…" she stammered over her words. "Um, I mean. I wanted to contact Mr. Derek Morgan." When the woman didn't jump to respond, she continued quickly, "He's in the BAU, and he gave me his card a few years ago and…"

The woman nodded. "I will see what I can do," she said. "Wait here."

Ella nodded, and the officer left, going to another officer and talking quietly. Ella stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. A large man in a purple dress shirt flashed his badge and hurried through the metal detectors. A chatting blonde in red heels clutched a manila file folder to her chest as she exited with a tall, dark man. Ella waited.

Finally the officer returned. "Agent Morgan is not available right now," she said. "Would you like to leave him a message?"

Ella breathed deeply and ran her lip through her teeth. "Umm…" She wrung her hands as she thought. "Uh, yeah. I think so. How should I do that?"

The officer took a pen and pad of paper out of her pocket, and handed them to Ella. "I can have this delivered to his desk."

Ella clicked the pen, and thought. _Dear Mr. Agent Derek Morgan,_ she began. Apologies and excuses filled her mind, but she knew she had to be concise. _I am Ella Newark. You helped me a few years ago. Some things came up. I would like to talk to you again when you are available. I am in D.C. now._ She paused, wishing she had a phone. But, she could find the public library and access a computer, so… _If it's possible for you and me to talk, please email me at EllaNewark . Thanks, Ella Newark._

She clicked the pen and handed it back to the officer. "And Agent Morgan will get it?" The officer nodded, pocketing the paper and pen. "Thank you ma'am." The officer nodded again, and Ella ducked her head, smiling hesitantly, and left.

The summer heat washed over her in a muggy wave as she stepped back outside. Ella scratched her head, and shrugged under her pack. Now what? Well, she had to find a public computer for one thing. And some food. Maybe a wash. And a lot of waiting. Hoping Mr. Morgan would contact her. He had to. He just had to. He couldn't ignore her too.


End file.
